


Somewhere Close, Somewhere Safe

by bepreparedf0rhell



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: M/M, just straight up gross fluff, that's it that's all that's happening here, they're boyfriends and they love each other OKAY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22860940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bepreparedf0rhell/pseuds/bepreparedf0rhell
Summary: In which Jim's just exhausted.
Relationships: Jim Root/Mick Thomson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	Somewhere Close, Somewhere Safe

**Author's Note:**

> This is just dumb fluff but my lovely emotional support creacher [dysphorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie) and I decided it was time for me to write these two dumbasses again and so I had to.

Jim is fucking _tired_. Well - he’s more tired than usual. He’s not twenty anymore and has constant aches and pains, constantly could use a nap, but this is something else altogether. This is real, this is bordering on all out exhaustion. 

He stumbles to the green room backstage, letting his tired bones fall into one of the couches. He’d noted before the show that this particular couch smells just a little more like armpit than he wished it did, but it’s fine. He doesn’t even care anymore. 

Normally he makes moves to change out of his stage clothes pretty quickly if for no other reason that he hates sitting in his own sweat. He can’t even muster the energy to do that, can barely force himself to reach up and unstick his sweaty hair from his forehead. 

He can hear the other guys in the hallway, hears Sid screeching about something and a few of the other guys laughing. 

“Where the fuck did Jim go?” Mick’s loud voice cuts through the static, and a consensus of uncertainty responds to him. Jim thinks about saying something, hollering his name to alert him to his whereabouts, but just as he’s about to Sid’s yelling again and this time Shawn is yelling back at him, clearly some sort of argument taking place. 

A few minutes pass and Mick lumbers into the room on his own. 

“There you are,” he says, sitting beside Jim and looking him over carefully. “Are you okay?” he asks, and Jim sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m so fuckin’ tired,” he says, and Mick nods. 

“We don’t have to go to the party tonight,” Mick says at once, and memory hits Jim in the face. Oh, fuck. He hadn’t even been thinking about the party - it was Sid’s birthday. That’s why he was screaming - he’d been pregaming since much earlier in the evening. 

“We have to go. You know Sid’ll be pissed if we don’t,” Jim says, speaking from experience. He’d missed one of Sid’s birthday parties ten years before, and Sid still spoke about it like it was the most offended he’d ever been. 

Mick doesn’t say anything, just shoves his long hair over his shoulder and takes off his mask, throwing it off to the side. There’s black greasepaint smudged all over his face, but when Jim really looks at him he can tell he looks just about as tired as Jim feels. 

“Fine. We’ll go, but we’re going back to the hotel first to get cleaned up,” Mick says, and Jim nods slowly. “Come on,” Mick encourages, standing and reaching for Jim to help him up. His legs are shaky, unsteady, and he has to heavily brace himself on Mick for a long minute before he feels like he can actually walk. 

Mick leads him out of the venue and into a cab, where Jim stares out the window absentmindedly all the way to the hotel. When the car stops and Mick pays the driver, Jim’s almost zoned out enough that he barely even realizes they’ve arrived until Mick nudges his arm. 

After checking in and trudging up to the room, finally Jim’s able to collapse into a chair once more. 

“We’re not going to the party,” Mick says almost immediately once the door is shut behind them, looking Jim over where he’s sitting in the corner of the room, his arms draped over the armrests of the chair and hanging almost to the floor and his long legs splayed out in front of him.

“Yes we are. I’m fine. I just need to shower,” Jim says, and even he’s nowhere near convinced. 

“Can you even get out of that chair and into the bathroom?” Mick asks, and Jim sighs, looking at the few feet between his current position and the open door Mick’s standing in front of. 

“It’s only what, 30-40 miles?” Jim asks, and Mick smirks, shaking his head. 

“We’re not going to the party.”

“I’m fine, Mick. Really,” Jim tries, hauling himself up and out of the chair. He stretches his limbs, wincing as things pop and move, soreness flashing through him. 

“Sure you are,” Mick says, crossing the room and taking him by the forearm. “Come on.”

“Take off your clothes,” Mick says, rolling his eyes when Jim smirks like a teenage boy at the sentiment. “Don’t be an idiot or I’m not going to help you,” he says, and Jim sobers his expression, nods. 

He strips out of his clothes, unbuttoning his jacket and pulling it off, peeling the white undershirt from his skin and hiking it over his head, shimmying out of his pants and underwear, feeling unbelievably fatigued just from the simple acts. 

“Come on,” Mick says quietly, and when Jim looks up he realizes somehow Mick’s also stripped down to nothing and has the shower running, steam flowing through the room. Jim had been pretty sure he’d gotten undressed in a relatively quick fashion, but now he wonders how long Mick’s been standing there waiting for him.

Mick’s hand is outstretched and Jim takes it, slowly stepping into the shower. Mick’s right behind him, stepping forward until Jim’s under the stream of the water. 

“You don’t have to-,” Jim starts, and Mick immediately shushes him.

“If you think for a second I have the patience to watch you try and do all this yourself right now, you’re dreaming,” he says, and Jim nods and closes his eyes. 

Normally, he’d probably put up a fight, would argue that he could wash himself, take care of himself. Right now, though, Mick’s soapy hands are running over his back and arms, working some of the knots in his shoulders, and he feels like he’s about to fall asleep standing up right then and there. Mick’s hands feel good - possibly better than anything’s ever felt, and if he weren’t having such trouble staying upright, he might ask him to keep going forever. 

“You okay in there?” Mick asks, and it takes Jim and second for his brain to turn on enough to answer. 

“Yeah, you… this feels really fucking good,” he mumbles, and Mick grunts quietly and continues washing him. 

When he’s done with his body, he sets to work with his shaggy hair, running shampoo through it and rinsing it, and then following up with a dot of conditioner and rinsing that as well. 

Jim desperately wants to return the favor, wants to make Mick feel as relaxed and at peace as he does, but he genuinely just doesn’t have the energy to do so. Mick’s looking at him like he’s reading his mind and flashes him a small smile. 

“It’s fine, Peach. You’ll pay me back another time,” he says, pulling Jim close and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “There’s a towel for you over there. Just wait for me in here, will you? I don’t want you accidentally falling out a fucking window or something,” he says, and Jim nods slowly and steps out of the shower, glad there’s a plush bath mat to give his feet traction. He reaches for the towel Mick set out on the counter for him and wraps it tightly around himself, sitting on the closed toilet lid to wait.

He watches Mick wash himself and then run his fingers through his knotted hair, unable to keep himself from getting just a little turned on. God, Mick’s fucking beautiful. Tears rise to his eyes just at the thought of how fucking gorgeous the man he gets to calls his is and he laughs quietly, fully delirious. Mick’s blue eyes rise to him and he laughs too, shaking his head. 

“You alright?” he asks, his voice echoing through the room. Jim nods as a tear slips down his cheek that he swipes away at once. 

“You’re pretty,” Jim says quietly as Mick steps out of the shower a few minutes later, and Mick rolls his eyes and shakes his head, reaching for his own towel. 

“So are you, James, so are you. Now come on, let’s get you into bed,” Mick says, and Jim nods and lets Mick lead him there. 

Once they’re standing at the edge of the bed, Mick pulls the towel off of Jim and dabs at him with it, making sure he’s not going to sleep soaking wet. He tousles his hair with it and rubs it over him one last time, pulling back the covers and motioning for Jim to get in. 

Once Jim is securely underneath the weight of the soft blankets, Mick gives him a soft peck on the lips and moves to make his way across the room and switch on the TV.

“Mick,” Jim rasps quietly, and Mick turns and looks back at him. “I’m sorry about the party,” he says, and Mick shakes his head. 

“I didn’t want to go to the party anyway, Peach. You know that.”

Jim nods, cuddles further into the sheets. 

“Micky,” Jim mumbles, and Mick’s skin crawls at the nickname. Jim is the only one his entire life who’s been able to get away with calling him that, and even he gets told off for it under the right circumstances. 

“Go to sleep, Jim,” Mick says without turning around, and Jim’s making a quiet whining sound. 

“I don’t wanna fall asleep without you,” Jim says so quietly that Mick can barely hear him. He smiles, turning back around. 

“You don’t need me with you to fall asleep,” he says, but he’s already taking steps back towards the bed. 

“Shut up, yes I do,” Jim whines, making Mick laugh quietly as he crawls in next to him. 

Jim’s moving towards him at once, wrapping his long limbs around him and pulling him closer. By the time he’s done, he’s somehow curled his legs up and has his face buried in Mick’s chest. Mick sighs, wraps his arms around him, and holds him close. 

“Mm, love you,” Jim mumbles into Mick’s chest, the words soft and broken because Mick’s pretty damn sure he’s almost fully asleep already. 

“I love you too, you giant dumbass,” Mick mumbles into Jim’s hair, planting a kiss on the top of his head before closing his own eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> wheresyoursavior.tumblr.com


End file.
